“This motherfucker…” I mutter under my breath as Jackson begins spinning his story tighter — fake tears and a trembling voice as he paints a vivid picture of a golden boy just checking on his friends. That the big, bad goth showed up and decked him for no reason. When he's done, the principal looks from him to me and Olivia, who fidgets with the string of her jacket sleeve beside me.

“So, what do you have to say for yourself, Jamie?”

“For one, I did NOT punch him for no reason. Two, he came over to Olivia and started calling her a murderer. I know some people have a weird way of mourning, but doing that to the person who found them is seriously fucked up. And most importantly, three, I punched him for many reasons; this is just one of those times I went through with it.” I explained, shrugging my shoulders as Olivia nodded her head.

Lifting his hand, Principal Phillips pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows furrowed, a slight flush of red visible on his face. Shaking his head, he leans back in his chair, removes his hand from his nose, and rests his hands on his midsection.

“Can anyone vouch for your story besides Mrs. Olivia here?” he asks, his tone dripping with contempt as he gestures toward Olivia, who sits up a little.

“Almost everyone in the hall.” I stood up, gesturing back toward the door. “Go ask anyone out there.”

“I‘m only going to say this once— we just got things cleaned up, and people are mourning the loss of two wonderful students. You throw another outburst like that, and I will call your father down here and have you suspended.” The threat hung in the air as an uncomfortable pause followed.

“I’ll call him if you want me to,” I finally say, breaking the pause and turning the snarky look on Principal Phillips into one of barely contained rage.

“With this being the first day back to school, Mrs. Jamie, I will give you a warning. No need to call your father at this time, but the incident will be documented.” Principal Phillips tried a hard reset, backpedaling his words to cover the dumpster fire that would have been my father walking in here mid-shift.

Jackson looked from the principal to me, then back again, before opening his mouth and quickly putting his foot in it.

“Wait, what?!” he stumbles, his one good eye wide with shock. “That’s it? A slap on the wrist?” he questions.

“Guess some things do work out good," I responded as Principal Phillips excused us. “Not used to anyone else getting your type of treatment, huh, Jackson?” I sneer as soon as the principal's office closes.

“Shut up, Hooker," Jackson huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, his good eye drifting elsewhere as he stomped past, grumbling curses under his breath.

“Dumbass.” Olivia nudges me as we walk back down the hall toward our first class.

Finally arriving at our first class, Professor Thatcher walks around the classroom with his wild, greying hair. His eyes meet mine, and with a soft nod, he turns back around and heads to his desk.

“Did the bell ring while we were in there?” I whisper as we sit down. Olivia shrugs while putting her messenger bag on her chair. I set my books on my desk just as Professor Thatcher walks over and places a class syllabus in front of both of us.

Here we go, kids; we need to change the syllabus. If you need any help, please don't hesitate to let me know. Professor Thatcher smiles before walking back to the front of the classroom. “Alright, everyone, today we will be taking it slow because of what happened.” Professor Thatcher takes out a slip of paper and passes it among the students. “Please, if any of you have any problems you don’t want to talk about, just know we are all here to help, so you don’t have to keep it all to yourself; your mental health is far more important than silence.”

A small card is placed in front of me before I pass the small stack back to the next classmate. Pocketing the card, the class slowly moves on as Professor Thatcher turns on a movie on his projector.

Lying with my head on my forearm, the cold plastic of the desk makes me shiver as the voices from the movie start to blend. Before I realize it, a hand shakes me from my sleep as the soft chime of bells echoes in my ears. Sitting up, I stretch and look around the now-empty classroom. Well, besides me, Olivia and Professor Thatcher are sitting at his desk typing away.

“Man, when did I knock out?” I asked, popping my back and getting up.

“About halfway through a strand of DNA singing about Dinosaurs,” Olivia responded, grabbing her bag.

“Damn,” I grumble as we walk to the door. “Sorry, Thatch!” I shout over my shoulder.

“I want a two-page, double-spaced list of all the dinosaurs in the movie!” he laughs as we walk out into the hall.

Walking down the empty halls, the click of our shoes is the only break between us and the growing silence of awkward small talk.

‘Gods being a teenager was just like sis said, a lot of fun and awkwardly dodging life like gym class dodgeball. But I guess I ain’t doing so well because I keep getting hit in the face.’

Reaching the double doors to the bus area, I hold them open for Olivia, who quickly slips by without a word. This can be either good or dreadful. Following her out, we hop down the steps, pass the giant yellow Twinkie buses, and head to the school’s parking lot, where my hearse sat in all its gothic glory. Pulling the keys from my jeans pocket, the quiet chime rang out as I opened the door and stepped inside. Olivia fell into the passenger seat with an exasperated sigh.

“So, what are we doing now? We never really left Thatcher’s class. So, no homework? And I don’t have to tend to the garden today or work janitorial till next week," Olivia explained, scratching her ear as I revved the engine and drove us out of the lot.

“Want to hit the arcade?” I ask as I come to a stop at the stop sign. Other students walk past us as Olivia hums.

“Yeah, why not?”

By the time we leave the arcade, the sun has long set, and the yellowing fluorescent lights overhead cast an eerie glow above us as we get back into my hearse and drive out of the parking lot, waving at the arcade workers as they close shop for the night. Rolling down the road, the flickering fluorescent lights cascade across the thickening fog against the asphalt. Stopping at one of the lonely stoplights in town, I lean forward a bit.

“What in the hell is up with this fog?” I squint my eyes into the white sheets, barely able to see three inches in front of the headlights. “Did any of the forecasts say anything about this coming in?”

“I don’t think so?” Olivia looked out into the fog as the red light across the way turned green.

Cautiously, I pull to the right and toward the Henderson farm. Ever so slowly, we roll down the asphalt until a set of yellowed headlights rounds the grocery store and follows closely behind us. The right headlight flickers, making Olivia shift away from where she had her head resting on the window.

“Fucking dickhead.” I cursed as the blare of the truck's horn roared behind us. “What the fuck?!” I rolled down my window, shouting into the moist air. “HEY ASSHOLE, GO AROUND!” Just as those words left my lips, something in the air sliced across my cheek, causing me to fall back and onto my horn.

“Jamie?” Olivia asked, worry lacing her words as she grabbed my shoulders. “You're bleeding?!” She takes my face into her hands as another blaring horn hits our ears.

Quickly, I sit up fast, putting pedal to the metal, and squeal down the road. Olivia grips the handle above her head so tightly that I can see her knuckles turning white. The sound of something scraping against the gravel grows closer and closer. Out of the corner of my eye, my eyes land on the sideview mirror—something moved, glowing golden orbs dancing within the fog. Every part of me burns with adrenaline as I whip the hearse down the dirt road, the truck no longer in sight. My heart races against my eardrums, and the fog around us lifts the closer we get to the house.

Hitting the iron fence, we screeched into the yard, the porch light flickering as Olivia and I, to put it simply, hauled ass. We hit the front screen door just as the sturdy wood door swung open, and Elinore stared at us both with wide-eyed shock. Her mouth opened to speak as we rushed in and slammed the door.

“Girls?! What's wrong?!” Elinore helped us up, her gaze shifting from us to the door. The fog outside receded into the thick pines, leaving only the bent fence and scratched hearse blending into the porch's lamplight.

‘How do you explain a weird truck blaring its horn at you before a thing cut your face?’ I don't think there's a straightforward way to put it without sounding too crazy, especially given how we're sitting at the kitchen table now, holding a damp, blood-stained rag against my face. Elinore surprisingly hadn't asked any questions besides the simple ‘If you're okay, and if I was staying tonight.’

Neither of us answered for a long time, just sitting with a bowl of lukewarm water between us. I didn’t know how to say it. The words kept echoing in my head as Elinore called my dad, then the Chief of Police, who promptly decided to come over, apparently in his sleepwear, including brown, worn bunny slippers.